The girl who returned as a warrior
by Cuchulain-Setanta
Summary: Everyone thinks her dead. The king of Gondor himself carried her lifeless body back from Mordor. Yet she is alive. Alive and setting out on a journey all her own, a journey to reunite her with the Fellowship and with a certain king. (The sequel to: The girl who followed the king.)
1. Chapter 1

Somewhere deep in the dark forest of Fangorn, where hardly anyone dares to venture, an ancient tree stands. At its base lay a bundle of leaves. The ancient tree appeared to be standing guard over it, shifting its branches to offer some shelter to the small bundle upon the ground. For days nothing moved, every tree seemed to be waiting anxiously for something to happen. No birds sang, the leaves on the trees barely rustled, no sunlight made it through to the ground below, even the wind seemed to leave the forest alone. It was as though the very earth was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Then the bundle moved. The leaves fell away revealing a figure lying on the ground.

The figure of an Elf with black curls tumbling across her face, and a circlet of silver upon her brow. The figure's chest rose and fell rhythmically. Her eyes flew opened to reveal their blue-green depths flecked with gold. Every tree in Fangorn seemed to sigh in greeting and relief, the Elf smiled at her surroundings as the trees greeted her…as they welcomed her home. One tree reached a branch down and under her, lifting her up onto her feet with a gentle push. She took few unsteady steps forward and touched the trunk of the tree—her tree. She pressed her forehead against the trunk where the heart of the tree would be, communicating with her thoughts how glad she was to see it and how much she had missed the forest.

As her head rested against the tree, her last memories before falling into darkness, assaulted her. She remembered throwing the knife and making Him drop His sword before it struck Aragorn. She remembered feeling the agony in her side when an orc had sliced into her—she touched her side and found it completely healed, not even leaving a scar. She remembered falling and being caught by Aragorn…and she remembered his last kiss upon her lips before she had been consumed by darkness. She remembered the last look which she had seen upon Aragron's face, it had been one of such sorrow and anguish, that she had wished that she need not die, simply to spare him the pain of her death. She fell to the ground and curled into a ball upon the fallen leaves with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. She felt her own anguish wash over her; nearly crippling in its intensity. She felt tears in her eyes and she let them fall. Why did it feel as though they were the ones who had died and not her?

She knew that her friends thought her dead; she knew that they mourned her, and she knew that she mourned with them. For the loss of her friends, for the sadness which they felt at her death, and for the knowledge that if she were to return to them…it would not be as the same person who left them. It would take a long time to cross the many leagues of Rohan, and Gondor. And she would have to do it all on her own. There would be no one to talk to, and no one to walk beside; she would be entirely alone. Alone and without her bow.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time she picked herself up from the ground and wiped the last of her tears away. She looked up at the giant trees which surrounded her and did her best to smile. She once more leaned her forehead against the trunk of her tree, this time to say goodbye. Another wave of sorrow washed over her, yet this time it was the sadness of having to say goodbye to Fangorn, and knowing she would most likely not return. The ancient tree told her of something which the trees of the forest had allowed to be made, something which had been made for her and left at the base of her tree. She stepped around the tree and found a bow and quiver of arrows awaiting her. This time the bow had been made from the wood of a tree from Fangorn, a tree from her own forest. This last gift was one that she promised to treasure always.

She started through the vast forest of Fangorn, her bow and quiver slung across her back. She said farewell to each of the trees which she passed, to each of the trees which she had known for most of her life. And so Raven set out on a journey all her own, one that she hoped would reunite her with her friends, and one that would change her before her journey was done.

**Welcome to the first chapter to the sequel of: The girl who followed the king. I know it is short, but I thought it was a good way to get it started. I hope that this story will be enjoyable. It will take me longer to update this as I am in school now and will be quite busy, however I will update whenever I can. Please review, and thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

_'Tis the darker shade of darkness which strives to escape from the holes where no light ever shines, the holes which hold it captive. The darker blackness which finds its way out and into the dark room when you are alone. The blackness in which you think you see something, yet it is not there when you look again. The darkness that is always watching and waiting to strike._

* * *

2.

It was not until early morning on the third day, that I reached the edge of Fangorn forest. I hated leaving my forest, yet something deep inside told me that I had to return to Aragorn, and to the rest of the Fellowship. I know not how long it will take me to reach Minas Tirith, for I do not have a horse this time, and I shall have to be more careful as to where I travel. People and orcs who would not have bothered Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli…would not be so hesitant to attack a lone traveler.

I stared out at the vast open plains of Rohan. My heart sinks as I see just how much land I have to cross before I am even in Gondor. I have so far to go, so much land to travel over. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath. I will not get there any sooner by despairing over how far I have to go. If I am ever to turn back, it is now. Now while Fangorn lies directly behind me, now before I begin my journey across Rohan. I dare not look back at the vast forest, for fear that if I do, I will decide to remain there for the rest of my days. Though it pains me to do so, I step out of the shade of the trees, and onto the grass covered hills of Rohan. Fangorn tells me goodbye, but I cannot turn and say it back, I must move forward. I cannot chance a look back at my beloved forest…at my home.

Though sorrow weighs heavy in my heart, it is also lifted by the hope that I will get to see my friends again. I will get to see Aragorn again. I carry with me only a little food I gathered in Fangorn, my bow and quiver of arrows, the cloak and circlet from Lothlorien, and the dress I was wearing when we marched on the Black Gate. For some reason the battle at the entrance to Mordor, seemed so long ago, yet it could not have been more than a few days ago. Could it?

* * *

For two days and nights I traveled across the vast plains and rolling hills of Rohan. On the morning of the third day I came upon a river, a swift and deep river that swept across the land; a river that I would have to cross. Except, I am not sure how to do so. I cannot see anyway of crossing, and I do not think that I can swim across so swift a river. My gaze moves from one end of the river to the other, as I attempt to determine which way would be easier to cross. My shoulders slumped as I realized that the river was its narrowest at the base of the mountains on the other side of Fangorn forest. This river was far too wide at almost any other part; I had to cross here and I had to do so before nightfall. For once night has fallen, it will be far too dangerous to attempt crossing so turbulent a river. As I stare at the river, I contemplate my two choices. I can either walk back to Fangorn, to the base of the mountains, and cross the river at its smallest point; or I can find a way to cross here. There is not really a choice, I have to cross here. I am just not sure how.

An idea stirs in my mind, an idea that gives me pause. I know that it will work, it may be the only way across, yet I had promised Aragorn that I would not do such a thing again. I fall to my knees upon the bank of the river, my fingers moving through the thick grass that grows there. I know that I can make it grow and I know that it is most likely the only way across and to the other side. Surely he would understand why I broke my promise, if he does not then at least he will know I am alive.

I lean over and place both my hands flat on the ground, feeling the grass under my hands, feeling the soil beneath it, and the roots which grew and stretched deep within the earth. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. I can do this. Ever so cautiously, I push a little more life and energy into the grass, making it grow rapidly. Making it stretch and twist over the river to form a bridge, a bridge that I somehow knew was sturdy enough for me to cross. I withdrew myself from the grass bridge, just as it reached the river bank on the other side. I carefully untangle my hands from the grass which has grown up and around them and get to my feet, brushing bits of grass from my dress as I stand. Pain explodes inside my head, driving me to my knees. My hands clutch at my head, wave after wave of agony pounds through my skull. I have to press my face into the ground to keep from screaming, for that will alert anything nearby of my presence. Tears fall into the soil beneath me, my hands clutch at my head as another wave of pain erupts inside me, then I am consumed by darkness.

I slowly become aware of myself, of the numbness in my legs and arms, the residual pain in my head, and the cold air which presses down on me. My eyes open, and it takes me a moment to register that night has fallen; I have lain here for nearly an entire day. Ever so slowly, I pull myself up onto my knees and look around at the surrounding land, searching for any sign of Men or Orcs. I am alone, alone at night beside a turbulent river. I stiffly get to my feet, absently rubbing my head as I debate whether to cross the river now or wait until morning. Waiting until morning will increase the danger of being found by wandering hordes of orcs. Yet, waiting for morning also means that crossing the river is easier and far less treacherous. The danger of being found by orcs, far outweighs the danger of crossing the river at night. I gather my bow from the ground where it had fallen, walk to the edge of the river bank, and carefully place one foot upon the grass bridge. The grass holds, and I carefully walk across and to the other side of the river. As my feet touched the ground on the other side of the river, the grass bridge shrunk and returned once more to its former length. Silently, I thank the grass for its help, then I turn away from the river and walk into the night.

* * *

For three and a half days I walk across the grass and rock covered hills of Rohan. Nearly four days without a tree in sight, only boulders and cliffs to offer any relief from the scorching heat of the sun. The cloak from Lothlorien shields my face and most of my body from the worst of the sun's heat, yet it cannot entirely protect my skin from burning. I do not travel at the same manic speed, as when I had first crossed these lands with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. I travel more cautiously, keeping watch for orcs and Men who may very well be bandits. Some half-buried boulders are recognizable from my earlier journey across the plains of Rohan; boulders which the four of us had climbed as we chased the Uruk-hai across the vast grassy hills. The leagues pass more slowly this time, and it is not until the morning of the sixth day since I crossed the river, that I come upon a much wider river. The sight of this next obstacle brings me to an abrupt halt.

My eyes gaze across the width of the river, searching for anything which could help me cross it. The roar of water fills my ears, and my eyes roam over the river until they find the place where it disappears over the edge of a cliff. The river hurtles over the edge of the cliff falling fifty boat lengths, before crashing into the churning river below. There is no way to cross the river here, I will have to travel up river and hope to find a way to cross to the other side; even if it is simply a place where it is calm enough to swim across. I turn my back on the waterfall and begin walking alongside the river, searching for anything that will aid me in crossing to the far shore.

**I know, I know this chapter sucks. I am so sorry about that, I promise it will get better soon. Thank you for reading it anyway and I hope that it was not too horrid. Please review, and thank you for reading.**


	3. Not a real chapter

I am so sorry that this is taking so long, I have been busy with school and several projects therein. However I am still working on this story, I have NOT given up. I have also been toying with the idea of a very short piece dealing with Tharadain and what happened to him, let me know if that's a good idea or not. Thank you so much for being patient and I will have the next chapter up as soon as I can. Thank you! You guys are awesome!


	4. Chapter 4

3.

The flames of the small fire do not reach very high and there is not much warmth emanating from it. Though the fire is not very big, I worry that it will be spotted and that orcs will find me; I cannot stay long in this place, I have to get moving. I had hoped to be able to let at least my cloak dry, yet now it looks as though that will no longer be an option. Would these lands ever be free of orcs and goblins, was it even possible to hunt down every last one of them until they became extinct? They are as a plague, sweeping across the lands destroying any living thing in their path. A plague for which the only cure is to hunt them down and kill them. Kill them just as they would joyfully kill us. The very thought of such an act makes me ill, they are living creatures who inhabit this land just as Elves, Hobbits, Men, Dwarves and countless other things do. How can exterminating them be any better than what they would gladly do to every last one of those races…is there even another choice? Surely there is another option, complete extinction cannot be the only way to deal with these beings, how can that be the correct answer?

These thoughts are merely a few among the myriad of others which plagued my mind, even after the fire was extinguished and I attempted to rest for the night. Foremost among my thoughts were those of the rest of the Fellowship, worry about what had become of them and the cold dread that I had saved Aragorn's life only to have him die while he was distracted with my death. Had all that I done, been in vain?

The sun seemed to become hotter over the next few days. The terrain was changing, changing from the rolling and rocky hills of Rohan, to hills covered in long brown grass. This new land was not welcoming. There was absolutely nothing as far as the eye could see, except for hills covered in brown grass. Not a tree or bit of scrub in sight. As far as I could see in any direction—save the one I came from—every plant was brown and lifeless, there was nothing but that one uninterrupted color…brown. Brown the color of death. There was no sound, no birds, no insects; no rustling of small animals through the grass, there was only the sound of wind through the grass.

The farther I venture into this land of dead plants and heat, the more a thought grows in my mind. A thought that this is wrong and I should not be here. This cannot be the way to Minas Tirith…can it?

The terrain is never changing; always the same rolling hills shrouded in dead brown grass, grass that waves in the wind and hides the evidence of my passage through these lands. The days wear on and I begin to feel drained, I have less and less energy each day, even with proper rest. Time begins to lose all meaning, one day blurs into the next. Each night I collapse onto the ground, laying there until morning when the sun rises once more. The sun sends its intense-blistering heat across the hills. There is no shade, no reprieve from the sun and I must keep moving…I must reach Minas Tirith.

On the sixth day since entering these lands I had already been walking for hours, felt the relentless heat upon my skin, when something inside me broke. Though I knew something had changed inside me…something was gone leaving me feeling somehow emptier, I knew not what it was. Yet I did not have time to reflect upon what it might have been, for the instant that it happened, I collapsed onto the hot ground and knew nothing but darkness.

Night fell on the world and none but the moon saw the figures creeping across the land towards the lone figure lying in the long grass. An argument took place once the figures reached their destination and was only settled when one picked the lone figure from the ground and took off across the hills, leaving the others to follow in silence. They had taken the lone figure, had left all that it was carrying behind, left it in the grass. They did not once stop in their haste to reach their destination, seeming to fly over the many leagues which they traveled before the sun began to rise. The figures reached a cave which was hidden by the terrain, only those who knew it was there—or else accidentally stumbled into it—were able to get inside it. One by one they slipped inside, the last figure obscured the entrance further before joining its brethren as they traveled deep inside the cave to a place that they knew was far enough in that there would be no chance of either escape for their prisoner, or of being found by anyone who happened to pass by and hear the echoed whispers of voice emanating from the seemingly solid hill.

**My apologies about the wait and the relative shortness of the chapter, I assure you that soon the chapters will be longer and hopefully the wait will be shorter. Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoy. You guys are amazing.**


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